Alexithymia
by Ariaeris
Summary: Harry might be willing to damn himself and his future, but the last thing Fenrir was planning on doing was letting his mate slip away. Even good intentions though, sometimes fade to dust. Fenrir/Harry. For Phee; enjoy the very belated birthday gift!
1. An Endless Cycle of Revelations

Amazing, isn't it Phee? The Fenrir/Harry I promised you way back in April had finally been posted. I told you I would finish it, even if it has taken me over a month of stalling!

In any case, I was hoping for something as fluffy and humorous and wonderful as the Godric/Harry threeshot you wrote for me, but my angst plunnies said 'nuh uh, Ariaeris.' So instead of fluff, we get an alcoholic Harry filled with disillusionment and a large heaping of self-hatred and a concerned, unable to do anything and hating himself because of it Fenrir.

I'm sorry. My fluff generator is broken; it seems like the only things I can churn out these days are angst (The Falcon Cannot hear, which has the added bonus of being metaphysical, and Stand and Walk, which is looking more and more depressing with each passing day. Not to mention Losing at Chess, which has kinda gone off the deep end, which might force me to push the reset button in some way) and sex.

All the fluff is going into A Moment of Mercy; if I'm lucky though, AMoM might finally kick into high gear soon and start taking on a darker edge, and then I will be able to focus my fluff on Harry Potter once more. Hopefully. Maybe.

In any case,

Enjoy~

Oh, and Phee, don't kill me for stealing your heading thing below; it's just one more way of showing my love for you!

* * *

**Author: **Ariaeris  
**Title: **Alexithymia  
**Rating:** M for _Marvelous  
_**Genre:** Romance, I suppose. Angst. _Angst._ **Angst.** :(  
**Summary: **Harry is too lost in dreams and painful memories to see their last moments pass them by and Fenrir is not sure if he is ready to see his most beloved weakness abandon him.  
**Pairing(s): **Fenrir/Harry  
**Warnings:** Um, werewolves? Oh, and did I mention the angst?  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, don't care, don't sue. I don't even own this disclaimer!

* * *

_**Alexithymia**_

_Chapter 1: An Endless Cycle of Revelations_

_Drinking makes such fools of people, and people are such fools to begin with, that it's compounding a felony. _

_- Robert Benchley_

* * *

Tired, in pain, and hung over, the only thing that registered in Harry's groggy mind was that whoever was carrying him was not being very considerate of his damaged state.

Shifting, he pressed his nose into his carrier's shoulder, nuzzling the hard muscles he found there – it was probably him then.

"Stop moving," the man ordered and Harry stilled on instinct. There was a long stretch of silence broken only by the sound of heavy footfalls before Fenrir sighed gustily and shifted Harry so that he was carrying him bridal style instead of over his shoulder.

"Why didn't you carry me like this in the first place?" Harry moaned, clutching his aching ribs. If they were bruised, Fenrir would so be sleeping on the couch for the next few weeks.

"Why should I offer you any comfort?" Fenrir growled harshly, and Harry winced at his tone and his suddenly too tight grip. "Not when you…after you promised to stop."

"'M sorry," Harry muttered, a shameful blush darkening his cheeks. He _had_ promised, but he had not been strong enough to resist the temptation that plagued his every waking thought.

"Don't apologize; just say no the next time someone offers you a drink," Fenrir said softly. The oddness of the werewolf treating him gently caught Harry's attention, and he was surprised to see the other's dark amber eyes looking down at him with an uncertain gleam.

Another painful, embarrassing blush; Fenrir had always treated him as his own person, had never coddled him. He had given him the freedom he had always craved, the freedom consistently denied to him throughout his life, and this was how he repaid him? By being a drunkard, a man too addicted to the liquid comfort that drowned out his painful past?

Its presence was too alluring though. It was a reprieve, a few short moments that gifted him with peace before he had to go out and face the cold, unforgiving world once more. Though he knew it did not eliminate his problems, merely push them back and stall them for a later date, he was too weak to resist such a comfort.

And that was what made his situation all the more painful. So many others had faced more demons than he had, had experienced more painful pasts and unfortunate circumstances than him, and yet he was the one who resorted to alcohol. All those who had fought beside him, had taken part in the war, had lost a loved one…

It made him weak, so weak that even the acknowledgement of his weakness could not break him of his habit.

Harry whimpered and pressed closer to Fenrir, trying to block out the self-critical thoughts rushing through his mind. Why did he have to be the weak one? Why couldn't he be like Fenrir, someone strong enough to face both their painful past and their uncertain future unwaveringly? Or like Hermione, who more than anyone else had reason to regret and be disgusted with herself and yet still did all she could to make the world a better place?

No, he had fallen to his suffering while others rose above it, and he was unintentionally taking those who loved him down with him.

The pitying glances, the worried looks, and he could practically trace the stress lines he was carving into Fenrir's face. Already, his werewolf's thick grey hair that he adored so much was sprinkled with strands of silver, less the fault of natural aging and more the fault of his never-ending worry.

If he was a truly good person like everyone claimed he was, he would just end his own life and cease being such a burden on his loved ones. Instead though, he was selfish and cruel; more than anything else, he treasured his existence and would not give it up for the world.

Even if it meant that he was slowly killing those who cared for him.

Then again, that's what he did; he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He lived. No matter what, he lived, even if some days he thought he would be better off not.

Harry's inner musings were cut off as Fenrir suddenly stopped, and he noted with some surprise that they had already reached their apartment. The werewolf carefully nudged the door open with his hip, clutching Harry in a rare show of tenderness; the show merely caused his heart to clench in pain and his lips to twist bitterly.

Fenrir was strong; much stronger than him.

The older man did not waste time traveling to their bedroom, settling Harry on their bed. The brunette's head pulsed painfully as he was lowered, and Fenrir growled apologetically. Yet another rare occurrence; why was Fenrir even treating him like this? He had betrayed him, gone back on his word to never drink again, and Fenrir was treating him like he had done nothing.

Harry watched quietly as Fenrir rummaged around the large room for a set of pajamas, stripping himself at the same time. The werewolf was grumbling something under his breath, and Harry could almost picture the brighter days long since past where he would tease Fenrir about being curmudgeonly. Fenrir would always reply that he was a tease and…

His epiphany struck him like a lightning bolt, much like it had many times over. Fenrir _had _been treating differently, but only because Harry was forcing him too. This addiction of his was constantly altering their relationship; one day they would be lovers and the next Fenrir would be his caretaker as he recovered from yet another hangover or worse.

He had thought that Fenrir had been treating him normally, but what they had now was so far from normal that…

Strong, calloused hands that he once loved touching him and worshipping his body lifted him slightly off the bed, and Harry flinched away from them with a mournful keen. Those hands; he felt like a child in the embrace of a parent. They cradled him, helped him into a pair of pajama bottoms, and he felt _so fucking weak_. Like a puppet, like an infant, they moved him, and for the briefest of moments, the notion that he could just give up and live the rest of his life as a marionette crossed his mind.

Their bed was soft underneath him as he was settled back on it, instinctively curling up in a ball. A dip, and Fenrir settled behind him, a once-comforting weight that he now abhorred vehemently. He did not have to wait for Fenrir to tap his shoulder, automatically accepting the potions that he took two times a day, seven days a week, for (God, what a frightful notion) the rest of his life; one to encourage sobriety, and two to help fix the damage he willfully inflicted upon himself every day.

It was a routine, he realized for the umpteenth time. Get up, despair, drink, and slowly kill himself. Was that what he wanted for an existence? Could he really just give up on life, on those who loved him?

Was he really so _weak_ that this was what he wanted out of reality, to forever deny the bright future that hovered just out of reach for him and his mate thanks to his addiction?

As strong arms shakily wrapped around his waist and the room's lights were dimmed, Harry knew the answer to every question, for he had asked the same question to himself every night after Fenrir had dragged him from whatever shitty bar he found himself at: yes.

The room fell dark and Harry begged whatever higher power might exist to grant him mercy, consciously choosing to ignore the possibility of helping himself.

* * *

This short story is shaping up to be particularly painful for me. :(

Ever since I read my first Harry Potter story, I've tried to get into Harry's head as much as possible. I've attempted to examine his character from every angle and, though my Harrys are wildly off canon most of the time, I feel like he is my most treasured character. I think it is a natural phenomenon for authors to favor some characters over others, especially the ones they write all the time or from the main point of view (Sympathetic POV and all that), and is sometimes painful to examine your favorites so critically.

Between Losing at Chess and this new fic, I feel like I am unfairly heaping on the angst on Harry. I've focused so much on the fluff and the angst that _happens _to Harry that writing the angst that Harry willfully causes is hard. It's almost like disillusionment in a way; I've never realized how foolishly I saw Harry until I started writing him as imperfectly as possible (The Falcon Cannot Hear was the first fic I wrote with the implication in mind).

On an unrelated note, I just found out that this website only allows you to have fifteen files on your account at a time. Not fair, Fanfiction~

In any case, I hope you, well, I can't really say enjoyed it, but at least I hoped it piqued your interest.

…Go read Phee's Godric/Harry. It is a much better birthday gift than mine.

/Hides face in shame/

Ariaeris~


	2. Breaking, Bending, Never Ending

How this chapter came about is kind of a funny story; I was reading this excellent Schneizel/Lelouch fic and, because my brain is hyper and crazy for some unbeknown reason, it decided that it needed some more Fenrir/Harry stories.

So I thought, what better stories than my own? Well, a lot probably, but that did not stop this chapter from being written! So take that, brain!

…I feel like I just lost (or won) an argument with myself which, coincidently, makes me feel like I lost those last remaining fragments of innocence inside that I clung to so dearly…

Oh, for the love of God, getting into an emo mood is not helping; that's it, happy ending here we come! I'm tired of forced method acting, so I want some fluff.

Now. Or at least by the end of this story.

And I _always _get what I want.

Mwahaha.

Enjoy~

* * *

**Author: **Ariaeris  
**Title: **Alexithymia  
**Rating:** M for _Marvelous  
_**Genre:** Romance, I suppose. Angst. _Angst_. **Angst.** :(  
**Summary: **Harry is too lost in dreams and painful memories to see their last moments pass them by and Fenrir is not sure if he is ready to see his most beloved weakness abandon him.  
**Pairing(s): **Fenrir/Harry  
**Warnings:** Um, werewolves? Oh, and did I mention the angst?  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, don't care, don't sue. I don't even own this disclaimer!

* * *

_**Alexithymia**_

_Chapter 2: Breaking, Bending, Never-Ending_

_They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself._

_- Andy Warhol_

* * *

It had not taken long for Harry's thin frame to stop its gentle shaking, the potions easing him into an untroubled sleep.

No matter how much it hurt to admit it, Fenrir thought such a mercy was too good for the brunette.

He could understand where Harry was coming from, why he was so racked with nightmares and regrets in his every waking moment. Though he tended to rely more on actions than words, he was not an idiot, especially when it came to his little lover. Even if Harry was one of the most confusing, complex, broken-like-shattered-glass humans he had ever met.

Just because he understood Harry's motivation for drinking, for clinging to his painful past instead of facing the confusing future, that _did not _mean he supported his addiction. His mate was stronger than this; even though the world had beaten him down to the ground and stomped on his very spirit time after time, Harry had always rose again, a little more fragile and a little more broken.

But he had risen, which was more than he could say for the sad excuse for a man that lay undreaming beside him.

He wondered if he was a horrible person because he was displeased with his lover currently sleeping unhaunted; he had no desire to see Harry in pain, but this action, granting him dreamless sleep artificially, felt like he was accepting Harry's drinking problem.

It felt like he was forgiving Harry for the pain he was causing everyone, the pain he was causing _him_, and that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

He wanted Harry to change; no, that was wrong. He wanted whatever wraith had overcome his lover, replaced him with a pathetic copy of the once strong man that fate had declared his chosen mate, to be banished.

He wanted the man who he had unthinkingly, unknowingly, and sometimes unwantedly fallen in love with to be returned to him.

With the way things were turning out though, Harry would destroy himself before he ever took the first steps towards healing.

And that was unacceptable.

Fenrir knew he was a selfish man; he could see the wish to die in his mate's eyes, but he would damn well not give Harry that which he desired. Even if he hated him, even if he never forgave him, he would do everything in his power and then some to tear Harry from his self-induced pain-filled reality and shove him on the path towards healing.

Because he was selfish; selfish enough not to grant his lover's wishes, selfish enough to hurt Harry just so that the brunette would have a chance of recovery.

Selfish enough to destroy his own heart in order to repair Harry's.

Selfish enough to hope that, in the end, Harry would some day see what he had done, recognize the lengths he had gone to in order to help his little mate, and still love him.

It seemed like a farcical dream, and yet he was willing to risk this stagnant reality he shared with his lover for that wish, even if it cost him the only thing that mattered to him.

Even if that same thing was destroying him by the day.

Fenrir slowly got off their cold bed, making sure not to wake Harry. He would give him this last night without nightmares, because if all went according to his plan that was rapidly forming, his lover would soon be forced to face the painful reality he had chosen as his own.

It would be the only mercy he would ever give him.

The alpha passed some members of his pack as he left his rooms, all of them bowing to him respectfully. He could feel their eyes tracing his form though, watching mournfully as he weakened day by day due to his mate's pain. Soon, even he would...

He shook his depressing thoughts away. There was only one person he needed to focus on; no one else mattered at the moment.

Thankfully, Harry had had the foresight to ask for a fireplace connected to the floo system placed in their home. Fenrir had seen no need for it at the time, but it seemed like his lover had been the smarter of the two in that decision.

A bitter thought crossed his mind; if Harry was so smart, why was he destroying himself?

Taking out the fine powder Harry had hidden in a hollow dog-shaped ornament (Fenrir had balked at getting such an unnecessary thing for the pack, but Harry had thought it cute and insisted that they buy it) and threw it into the ever-present fire that, like many other things in the manor, was powered by Harry's magic.

Seeing the weakly flickering green embers merely set the werewolf's will in stone; he would not allow Harry to hurt himself any longer.

"Malfoy Manor," Fenrir said clearly, stepping into the weak fire. For a second he wondered if the floo would even work on such a feeble thing before the familiar whirling sensations silenced his unspoken concerns.

He was greeted with pristine white walls as he stepped out of the fireplace, and he smirked as he dragged his sooty feet on the immaculate floor.

"Narcissa," the werewolf called, settling heavily in one of the many couches that littered the Malfoy's reception hall. He was not a patient man by any means, but he knew Lady Malfoy must have sensed his arrival.

Sure enough, Narcissa swept into the hall not a moment later, her nose already crinkling at the sight of her guest.

"Did you not even think of cleaning yourself off before sitting down?" Narcissa asked, glaring at the lingering ash that had settled on his bare chest. "Or perhaps getting dressed?"

"Didn't even cross my mind," Fenrir smirked, loving her disdainful snort. He found no greater amusement than riling up the normally unflappable Malfoys, no matter how dangerous such a game was - their tempers, once provoked, were one of their only good traits in his mind.

"Why are you here?" Narcissa said sharply, sitting primly in a chair across from Fenrir and calling for a house elf. The pitiful thing popped in, already carrying a tea tray, and disappeared without a word. "You are not one to drop in unexpected. Is this because of Harry?"

"Kind of," Fenrir admitted, ignoring the tea placed in front of him. Knowing Narcissa, she could have easily had it poisoned.

"Oh?" Narcissa questioned, watching him with lethal silver eyes. Sitting their, drinking her tea politely while at the same time glaring at his as if he was the worst scum on the face of the earth, she made the perfect picture of a pureblooded lady. "How so?"

"He was out drinking again," Fenrir confessed, barely holding in a wince as Narcissa sighed gently. He felt bad for a moment, throwing Harry under the bus like this, but he silenced the foolish notion.

"I see," Narcissa said sharply. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Nothing," Fenrir answered truthfully, and one pale brow rose on Narcissa's elegant face. "I wanted to talk with Hermione actually."

He was treading on thin ice now, and he knew it. Narcissa's smile grew slightly as the temperature in the room dropped sharply. From the corner of his eye, he could see his untouched tea freeze over.

"And why would you ever have to see Hermione?" Narcissa asked pleasantly, taking a sip of her unfrozen tea.

"I want her to talk with Harry," Fenrir said, looking at Narcissa unflinchingly. He wouldn't cross Lady Malfoy lightly, but this was for Harry; he could risk it for him.

"Why?" Narcissa asked sharply, and his teacup cracked slightly, miniscule fissures running across it.

"She is the only one that can help Harry now; no one else would be able to get through to him," Fenrir argued, watching Narcissa carefully. He would need to tread carefully, lest he lose whatever fragile hold he held on the lady's patience. "Harry is worsening; I know we all thought it best to let him try and get over his addiction without our interference, but it isn't working. I've tried to help him from the sidelines, but I can tell he blames me, unconsciously or not. The only one that can help him, the only one from _then_, is Hermione."

Narcissa closed her eyes, contemplating the werewolf's case. Fenrir had a point; Hermione was the one closest to Harry, even after she had...

"It must have taken a lot of courage for you to come here," Narcissa mused, smirking lazily. "That is commendable. I will agree to this little plan of yours; I will talk to Hermione, but she will be the one to decide if she wants to help or not."

Fenrir's amber eyes widened and he almost let his jaw drop in shock. Though he had hoped she would, Lady Malfoy was actually going to help him?

"Thank you, Nar-" he began.

"Save your thanks," Narcissa waved him off, her previous iciness melting away. "I did not agree to anything. I merely said I would inform Hermione of your little plan.

"I warn you though," Narcissa hissed, the temperature plummeting once more, causing his teacup to shatter. "If Harry hurts her once more, I will not grant him any more mercy. I have been lenient enough with him for Hermione's sake - that will not continue for much longer."

Fenrir growled at the threat towards his mate, but he was satisfied with their little meeting. He nodded to Narcissa for politeness' sake before quickly leaving by way of floo once more.

Harry had been living in a never-ending cycle of despair and yet even the greatest of cycles can be toppled by the smallest of pushes. Though he felt weak relying on others to help _his_ mate, the situation had been taken out of his hands.

He had not been strong enough to save his lover by himself.

Therefore, he could only hope that he had been strong enough to set his salvation in motion.

* * *

Lookie there, hints of a (mildly, maybe) happy ending! Looks like this won't be the total angst-fest I had feared it would be! Which is good!

Just as a little note, I know I have been adding in details seemingly out of nowhere, like where Fenrir and Harry are living, why the pack (and who the pack is) is with them, why Hermione is with Narcissa, and of course, what the hell happened in Harry's past that was so damaging. This will all be addressed in later chapters though; I am working in a discontinuous order, with the aftereffects of actions happening in the present while the back story will reveal just what the hell happened.

So just deal with the unrevealed secrets for now; in fact, why not try and figure out what has occured. If anyone gets it right in a review, I'll give them a gift which, as some of my older readers can tell you, happens on a quite frequent basis.

In any case, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I'll see you next one!

Ariaeris~


	3. Pretty Little Shattered Mannequin

Update, update, fun, fun, fun!

Ugh, I'm got the shivers, my stomach is fluttering all over the place, and the butterflies that were supposed to have been there have flown the coop and have decided to hold a dance part with the frog in my throat. God, I hate stage fright - and I'm not even going on stage!

No, I'm just going in for the first day of a new job. I'm prepared, ready to go, have my most charming smile on, and I feel like I'm about to fall off a cliff. I am so out of my league - are first jobs supposed to be this horribly nerve-racking?

Whatever. I know I should just be lucky that I even have a job. So, in an effort to make my situation seem better than it already is, I will write about people who have actual reasons to be nervous/upset/et cetera.

A.k.a. Harry and his merry little band of sycophants - I mean friends.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, get something stuck in my nostril, choke for a few seconds, almost pass out, exhale in relief. Inhale, exhale.

You know, a review would probably do wonders for my nerves, my lovely readers. Or another thirty or so favorites/alerts, because you know, that just tickled me pink. Thanks for that.

Less about my melodrama, on with the real fictional drama.

Onward!

Enjoy~

* * *

**Author:** Ariaeris  
**Title:** Alexithymia  
**Rating:** M for _Marvelous_  
**Genre:** Romance, I suppose. Angst. Angst. Angst. :(  
**Summary:** Harry is too lost in dreams and painful memories to see their last moments pass them by and Fenrir is not sure if he is ready to see his most beloved weakness abandon him.  
**Pairing(s):** Fenrir/Harry  
**Warnings:** Um, werewolves? Oh, and did I mention the angst?  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, don't care, don't sue. I don't even own this disclaimer!

* * *

_**Alexithymia**_

_Chapter 3: Pretty Little Shattered Mannequin_

_Love is not enough. It must be the foundation, the cornerstone - but not the complete structure. It is much too pliable, too yielding._

_- Bette Davis_

* * *

Narcissa sighed, a sharp frown marring her pale face as Fenrir disappeared into the floo, the large werewolf leaving a gust of ash in his wake. The man was always so messy and crude; she didn't understand how Harry could stand him.

Then again, Narcissa thought, as she banished the ash staining the floor, the problem was that Harry couldn't stand Fenrir. Her frown grew more pronounced; the Harry she knew was a strong and powerful young man whom Hermione spoke of with the highest of praises.

The shell now playing as him was a mere pathetic imitation. Everything that had constituted the man known as Harry Potter was gone, scattered to the winds and drowned in a keg of alcohol.

Narcissa sneered; in her opinion, Harry was as good as dead and should be treated as such. She could not stand the sight of him, weakened and damaged as he was, and by his own hand as well. He had given up on himself, made himself a burden to others, and as such, Narcissa had given up on him in turn.

In her cold eyes, he deserved no more chances of redemption; his dearest wish should be granted, the death he so craved as he drowned himself in drink should be given to him.

Fenrir would never allow it though. The werewolf was the most infuriatingly stubborn man she had ever met, and that was saying something, considering her ex-husband Lucius. The man clung to Harry with a passion reminiscent of the love they had once shared, swearing to heaven and hell that he would never let his lover go.

Some would call his loyalty admirable; others, such as Narcissa, merely saw it as foolish. No, even worse, she saw it as it truly was: Fenrir had succumbed to Harry, infected by the younger man's deplorable presence. Where once was a strong man willing to put all on the line to protect his pack was now a weak and damaged man, obsessed with his steadily dying lover and pushing all his other responsibilities to the side. Fenrir had duties to do, to watch over the multiple werewolf packs in Europe, and because of his terminally ill mate, everything was falling into chaos due to his absence.

Narcissa sighed gustily, brushing her hair off her shoulder. If the situation degenerated any further, she would have to act on her own digression, regardless of Hermione's orders or not. That wouldn't be the most ideal of situations, but it might be necessary in the future.

"Narcissa?" It was a soft whisper, but the young girl's voice rang throughout the room with power and authority. The blonde tilted her head to face the new arrival, eyes locking with Hermione's own. The younger girl looked concerned, her inquisitive eyes tracing Narcissa's face. The lady shifted, painfully aware that Hermione might be using Legilimency on her.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, striding forward with a confidant gait. Narcissa nodded in her mind; Hermione had become so much more self-assured under her tutelage and, though she would never be a pure-blooded lady, she did a damn good imitation of one.

"Who said anything was wrong?" Narcissa countered, smiling lazily as she banished Fenrir's abandoned tea cup, an action that did not escape Hermione's notice.

"You forget, Narcissa," Hermione murmured, moving to stand behind the older woman's couch. The brunette leaned forward, her lips gently tracing the shell of Narcissa's ear. "You could never lie to me; I know you too well."

"Why are you still awake?" Narcissa questioned, her face impressively impassive. She stared forward, as if ignoring the tempting devil hovering over her shoulder.

"The situation with Japan was keeping me up," Hermione replied, lacing her fingers in Narcissa's long blonde hair, gently massaging her scalp. She smiled as Narcissa's eyes fell closed, shielding her blue eyes that had started to lose their dispassionate edge. "I was hoping that a burst of inspiration would come to me on the edge of dreams; alas, I have found myself bereft. Don't change the subject though; what is bothering you?"

Narcissa nudged Hermione's hand, the younger witch obediently removing it. "Fenrir came by."

Hermione remained silent for a long while before replying. "...I see. Did he need something from me?"

"Not per se," Narcissa dodged, causing Hermione to shoot her an exasperated glance. "He wanted your assistance with something."

"Harry?" Hermione asked softly, head bowed, her long hair shifting to cover her eyes.

"Yes," Narcissa said shortly, not wanting to prolong the inevitable.

Hermione chuckled bitterly, brown eyes flashing with new-found cynicism. "I'm surprised that you didn't kick him out as soon as he came in."

Narcissa didn't reply, but she was rather surprised as well.

"...What does Harry need that I could assist with?" Hermione said carefully, her tone revealing none of her nervousness. Narcissa was proud of her. The blonde braided a few errant strands of Hermione's long brown hair that had slipped over her shoulder to cradle the older woman, choosing her response with care.

"Fenrir is still convinced that he can save his little mate," Narcissa said finally, sighing gustily. "He wants you to talk with him once more."

"I-" Hermione paused, biting her lip in frustration. Narcissa made a quick mental note to break the younger girl out of that bad habit, no matter how appealing it was. "Why would he want that? After all, I couldn't help at all the first time I tried to reach him."

"He is getting desperate," Narcissa replied glibly. "No one says it, but we all know Potter is getting worse by the day."

"He is n-"

"He_ is_," Narcissa said forcefully, looking over her shoulder to meet Hermione's eyes for the first time. Her brown eyes were unguarded, reflecting inner pain and turmoil, and Narcissa's cold heart broke a bit for the tormented girl. "Hermione, no matter what you may think, I feel bad for Po- Harry as well. He was a great man; emphasis on _was_. Now, all that's left of him is a mere shade of the man he once was. He's doing more harm than good, simply by existing; he is distracting both you and Fenrir, which has far reaching repercussions that we simply can not afford."

"You sound so heartless," Hermione spat, glaring viciously. "You speak of the_ worth_ he has? What of his intrinsic worth, as a human being, as a dear friend? You would toss him aside just because he is in a rut?"

"He is not in a rut, Hermione," Narcissa chided, pinching her brow as she tried to stave off a quickly forming migraine. She did not argue often with Hermione, but discussing Harry's current state was almost an assured way of having a long, drawn out, and painful argument. "And I'm sorry if I sound heartless, but someone needs to stop seeing the world through rose tinted glasses, and if that person must be me, then so be it."

"Excuse me if I would rather be optimistic rather than eternally pessimistic!" Hermione snarled, pulling Narcissa's hair sharply. The lady winced instinctively, before smoothing out her face into her usual impassive mask.

"Then you will talk to him?" Narcissa asked curiously. Hermione visibly faltered, eyes flashing with indecision.

"Yes, I will. I will tomorrow," Hermione declared, almost as if she was making a promise. Narcissa snorted, rising from the sofa gracefully. The blonde turned to face Hermione, her elegant hand moving to cup one of the brunette's cheeks.

"I understand," Narcissa said solemnly. "I would try to will you away from this path, if I knew I could change your mind. You have already made your decision though, so I will merely wish you the best of luck. No matter how heartless you may think I am, I do hope that you endeavor is successful; I merely believe that it will not be."

"Thank-" Hermione began, only to be cut off as Narcissa pressed a pale finger to her lips.

"I am not done, Hermione. It is not polite to interrupt someone while they are speaking," Narcissa smirked faintly, amused by Hermione's silently irate glare. The next second, the smirk was gone, replaced by Narcissa's solemn stare. "Know one thing, Hermione: if he hurts you again, I will show him no mercy. If I see that he has made you cry, than _I_ will be the one to grant his dearest desire; I will kill him myself."

Not giving Hermione the chance to object, Narcissa pulled her young lover into a rough kiss, biting the brunette's bottom lip. Hermione's mouth opened at the sudden pain and ferocious onslaught, and Narcissa pulled an unresisting Hermione into a possessive kiss.

"I swore to protect you once you ascended the throne, Hermione," Narcissa murmured once their kiss broke, Hermione watching her with glazed over eyes. "I will not let him hurt you again, my Dark Lady."

Hermione shifted as she felt her lover's magic shift, the blonde's promise recognized by her magic. The brunette shivered as she was swept into another kiss, not resisting as Narcissa lifted her up with surprising strength and carried her to their bedroom. As she was laid on their bed's soft silk sheets, Narcissa's sinful mouth tracing a fiery line down her neck, Hermione could only hope that she could help her most beloved friend before she was swept away in passion.

* * *

Yay for yuri.

I apologize for how long it has taken me to get this chapter up. I have been ridiculously busy lately, none the least by the fact that I have recently obtained my first job. That being said, the beginning author notes are a bit misleading; sadly enough, they are from when I had begun this chapter over a week ago, the night before my first day at work. I had hoped that I would have this chapter finished and would be able to post it before my first day, so if the job turned out horribly, I would have something to cheer me up.

Good news: my job went fairly well. Bad news: I have barely any time for fanfiction. I have so many ideas, and so little time to write, between adjusting to the job, finishing preparing for the next school year, et cetera, et cetera.

Anyway, I'm rambling. Ignore the previous paragraphs if you don't want to read meaningless things.

Don't forget to leave a review if you have the time; as every writer on this site knows, nothing is better than receiving a well thought out and polite review. Any review in general would be appreciated (except for flames, naturally), but I am glad to see people just enjoying this story in general. Seeing all the 'blahblahblah has added Alexithymia to their Story Alerts list' notices flood in was quite amusing.

I'm rambling again. I do that, if you haven't noticed, and as many of my friends can tell you.

Thanks for reading!

Ariaeris~


	4. Fondness is a Fleeting Concept

First of all, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or put this story on story alert. It's nice to see people appreciating this story, as it always is.

As for all the questions asked, well, I replied to everyone's reviews, but hopefully they will also be answered in story for the people who are still confused.

Hmm, these notes are going to be shorter than the others. Oh well; guess that just meant that more of the story will be devoted to the, well, story.

Enjoy~

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**Author:** Ariaeris  
**Title: **Alexithymia  
**Rating:** M for _Marvelous  
_**Genre:** Romance, I suppose. Angst. Angst. Angst. :(  
**Summary: **Harry is too lost in dreams and painful memories to see their last moments pass them by and Fenrir is not sure if he is ready to see his most beloved weakness abandon him.  
**Pairing(s): **Fenrir/Harry  
**Warnings:** Um, werewolves? Oh, and did I mention the angst? Violence as well now!  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own, don't care, don't sue. I don't even own this disclaimer!

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**_Alexithymia_**

_Chapter 4: Fondness is a Fleeting Concept_

_It is impossible to go through life without trust: That is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself._

_- Graham Greene_

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The manse that Harry had taken as his own looked so much more intimidating when you weren't an invited guest, Hermione though absent-mindedly. She had been standing outside Harry's mansion for a few minutes now, the setting sun behind her painting the building in a wide array of colors, oranges and purples blending into something unrecognizable. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find the strength to walk up to the building; she knew herself well enough to know that she was frightened. Frightened of what Harry could do, even as weak as he was now.

A shuffling from behind her drew her attention, but the brunette feigned ignorance and remained still. She drew her magic around her in anticipation of an attack; she had learned early on to defend yourself liberally and continuously. To do otherwise had cost Draco his...

"You came," a rough, deep voice growled. Hermione let her magic drop, looking over her shoulder with a faint smile.

"Fenrir," she greeted, none of the happiness in her voice reaching her eyes. She had not visited the werewolf in a long while and as the man approached her, she remembered why; he was looking worse and worse every time she saw him. Fenrir's long grey hair that had so enthralled her and Harry had been washed out by an aged-silver, and wrinkles had overtaken the laugh-lines that had begun to form thanks to Harry's presence. He looked even worse then before he had met Harry; then, Fenrir had been mangy and animalistic, until his mate's presence had calmed his inner wolf. The change had been reflected physically as well as emotionally, with Fenrir calming and losing some of his bloodlust and his body changing in response to his new found peace.

Now though... Fenrir just looked tired. Oh so tired, and it tore at her heart.

"Did I surprise you?" Hermione asked, her eyes tracing his figure. He had lost some muscle mass; Fenrir had been positively bulky a few months ago, standing head and shoulders over Harry, who was not a small man by any means. He was thinner as well, but she couldn't see any of his ribs, unlike Harry, who had looked near-emaciated during her last visit. He was also shaking, Hermione realized with a start, his body trembling as if cold.

"Yes," Fenrir admitted with a rueful smile, stopping beside her. He tilted his head back, his eyes closed, and sniffed the air. Hermione wondered if he was trying to scent his mate; she also wondered if he too could smell the scent of death that seemed to linger on the edge of her consciousness. "I didn't think you would ever return; not after last time."

"I thought I would give it one last shot," Hermione said softly, wrenching her eyes away from Fenrir. She couldn't stand to look at him any longer, her mind constantly running through all the signs of the wear and tear on him. It was causing her to go insane, seeing such a strong man look so... broken.

"I've heard that before," Fenrir chuckled roughly, and Hermione blushed in shame. She absent-mindedly rubbed a long, ropy scar that ran up her arm, shivering in the cold wind that sent desiccated leaves spiraling through the air. One of them caught in her hair, and she untangled it quietly, remembering the blooming trees and flowers that had surrounded the manse; they were what first caught Harry's eye and convinced him to take the house as his own.

Now, as she looked around, all she could see was a wasteland. The change between then and now was jarring, and Hermione shook her head, trying to dislodge her depressing thoughts.

"This is it; I swear it," Hermione said, with nowhere near enough conviction in her voice. Fenrir snorted, knowing full well that without interference, Hermione would spend the rest of her life trying to heal Harry. Then again, that was what Narcissa was for.

"You feel guilty," Fenrir remarked, before sneering. "As you should."

Hermione flinched, wondering where everything had gone wrong. It was not even a year ago that they had all sat together, her, Narcissa, Harry, and Fenrir, laughing and enjoying the peace that came after Voldemort's fall. She and Harry had been closer than siblings, a bond that was surpassed only by their love for their partners. Fenrir was still young, Narcissa wasn't as bitter, Harry wasn't self-destructive, and she...

She didn't have so many doubts.

"No. No," Hermione repeated, shaking her head. "I refuse to regret the choices I made. To do so would demean everything we have fought for."

Fenrir smiled cruelly, passing her as he began to walk towards the manse. "It's a little too late for that, little girl. If you didn't want to regret, you should have never betrayed Harry."

"I was only doing what I thought was right!" Hermione said, chasing after him, his long strides making it hard for her to match his pace. "I was only doing that which I believed would make Harry happy!"

With a motion so fast he blurred, Fenrir spun around, grabbing Hermione by the neck. The witch choked, struggling for air as Fenrir lifted her in the air so that she could meet his eyes for the first time. She shivered, overwhelmed by the primal fury that burned in those eyes.

"What you though would make Harry _happy_?" Fenrir mocked, his lips lifting in a sneer. "Do you know what _I_ think would make _my_ mate happy? Me holding you down as he tore you to pieces. Then again, you probably know what's best for the love of _my_ life, no? After all, you've done such a good job so far!"

Hermione winced as she was thrown to the ground, more from the pain in her heart then her landing. "I..."

Fenrir sighed, rubbing a hand over his worn face. "What was so wrong with what we all had then? Why did you feel the need to try and make things different? Weren't you happy then? Wasn't everyone?"

Hermione had no answer for him, rubbing her eyes as she lay on the dry and dusty ground, furiously denying that she was about to cry. Fenrir's face twisted into something that she hadn't seen in many a year, from before he had gotten to know Harry. "It doesn't matter now though, does it? You should remember where Harry is; he hasn't moved since you last saw him. I have nothing more to say to you."

Hermione watched him go, a thrum of betrayal coursing through her body, and she wondered if this was what Harry had felt at that moment. "Wait!" She cried, the need to ask a question that had long since haunted her rising to the surface. Fenrir stopped but did not turn around, and Hermione could almost imagine the sound of a door slamming shut. "Why... why would you go so far for Harry? Why would you hurt yourself like this... for someone who doesn't even want your help?"

Fenrir was silent for a long moment before he began walking once more, his stride long and mechanical. It was only as he reached the door to the manse that he answered her question, and his response only created more questions. "That line of thinking... must be why you haven't drowned in your guilt yet."

The doors to the manse opened with a creaking sound, chips of wood falling from the rotting doors. Fenrir stepped to the side, clearing the doorway. It wasn't an invitation, but Hermione stood anyway and walked towards the entrance, limping slightly. She didn't try to meet his eyes, but she could feel Fenrir's boring into her skull.

"Welcome to our home, Dark Lady."

Never before had the name sounded so much like a curse.

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Harry knew she was here; she could feel it in her bones, in the air that grew denser with every step she took. Her hands started to shake as the doorway to Harry's bedroom came into view, and she could almost imagine that she heard choked laughter echoing from the room.

Fenrir, who had stopped at the beginning of the hallway, answered with a sad laugh of his own. With a shake of his head and a rueful grin, the werewolf turned on his heel and fled back into the shadows of the manor.

Hermione almost cried out at him to wait, to stay with her, but she reigned in the impulse. She had no allies here; not any more, at least.

Drawing the courage that epitomized the Gryffindor house to her, the witch exhaled shakily before knocking on the door, standing frozen as she waited for a response. When none came, she knocked once more before slowly opening the door.

A shattering sound echoed in the room as she stepped on a glass, and Hermione leapt back, startled by the noise. As soon as her heart stopped racing, she looked down, saddened by the sight of a bottle of alcohol, one of many strewn throughout the room.

"I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again."

Caught up as she was examining the broken bottle, Hermione was caught by surprise by the raspy, slurred voice that came from the bed in the center of the room. She whirled around, letting out a startled shout as she took in the figure on the bed.

If Fenrir had looked worn down by time, then Harry was positively decimated. His long, inky hair hung around him, draping over his shoulders to rest limply on the dark red bed sheets. As he moved, the hair parted to give her a better view of his ruined face; where once a pale and gorgeous visage was was now a thin and sunken mask. A thin smile crossed Harry's chapped lips as Hermione's gaze wandered over his emaciated body, lingering on the skin stretched tightly over his ribs, though no happiness lingered in his lifeless green eyes.

"H-harry," Hermione stuttered, taking a quick step forward before holding herself back. The last time she got to close, Harry had launched himself at her.

"Bitch," the man replied pseudo-cheerfully, his eyes closed as his grin grew. Hermione shuddered as Harry's lips curled back, baring his teeth for her to see.

A heavy silence fell over the pair, Hermione not knowing what to say and Harry not caring at all. Eventually though, Hermione took a cautious step forward, inching her way to Harry's side. She stopped a few feet away, careful not to enter Harry's personal space.

"How have you been?" Hermione asked, mentally wincing at the stupid comment. Harry didn't even bother hiding the scorn in his eyes as he glanced at her before turning his head away.

"Positively peachy," Harry said, his words dripping with sarcasm. "And you?"

"I've been good," Hermione replied, ignoring Harry's disappointed pout, before taking something out of her pocket. "Here; Narcissa and I made them."

"No doubt they're poisoned then," Harry muttered, accepting the package of treacle tarts, only to throw them across the room without a single glance.

Hermione frowned before sighing sadly. "I know you're not happy with me, but-"

"Narcissa's taught you well," Harry snorted, cutting her off. "Not _happy_ with you? You've become a master of understatement."

"But I still wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help you," Hermione finished with a hopeful note, trying to meet his eyes. Harry humored her, tilting his head, his long hair falling into his face as he watched her with that same not-smile.

"You want to help me?" Harry asked rhetorically, but Hermione nodded anyway. "You want to help me feel better? In that case, do you see that bottle over there?" Harry gestured carelessly to a corner of the room, and Hermione frowned. "Could you bring it to me?"

Hermione's frown grew more pronounced as she retrieved the full bottle of alcohol, walking back to Harry's side. She held the bottle out to her old friend, only to gasp in fear as he grabbed her wrist instead.

"Thank you ever so much," Harry said with what was once a charming grin, slowly slipping the bottle from Hermione's grasp. The green-eyed man looked carefully at the bottle, and then at Hermione, and the witch's instincts blared furiously. Then there was pain, a startling lance of pain that shot through her body, centered at her skull as Harry smashed the bottle against her temple, sending her sprawling.

Harry laughed haltingly, leaning over the bed to watch Hermione's trembling form, his curtain of hair falling over the pained witch. A fragile hand reached out and caressed the witch's cheek, pulling at it affectionately, his long fingers pressing painfully on Hermione's new wound.

"You were right, Hermione," Harry said with a childish laugh, a carefree and innocent laugh, belied only by the furious and all-consuming hatred that had ignited his emerald eyes. Hermione whimpered, her mind screaming at her to grab her wand, stun him, do something because there was no more mercy in those eyes, if there ever was any.

Harry smirked cruelly, grabbing her chin and wrenching her off the ground. Hermione gasped at the strength Harry's weakened limbs still carried, and he threw her across the room. She landed painfully in a hard chair that she could swear had not been there a second ago; the lingering magic around it that tasted of Harry proved that he had somehow managed to conjure it. Harry smirked, crawling forward along the bed to rest on his stomach, his face in his hands, his hissed words causing a tremor of terror to shoot up her spine.

"I'm feeling better already."

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It's decided; no happy endings for _anyone_. Especially not Harry and Hermione. Because I'm feeling (emo) evil like that.

No, seriously, I've been writing too much angst lately, and I _really_want to get back to writing fluff. I'm even planning on doing so; I've got a nice little Viktor/Harry oneshot planned for Ashy, and then some other gift projects for other people, and all sorts of stuff to prove that I haven't abandoned fanfiction just yet.

The thing is, the angst plunnies are eating away at my soul. I thought The Falcon Cannot Hear would satisfy them, but that only calmed the metaphysical plunnies. Therefore, I'm unloading all my angst desires onto this story, so that once I finally kill this weird desire for emotional pain and anguish, I can write cute and fluffy things once more.

So only a few more chapters of this shit, and then we can all be happy and fluffy and dance around campfires and crap like that. So just, um, stick with me as I try to wrap this little project of mine up? Or go read something else; I'm sure we all would like something fluffy now. Still, if you're feeling kind, hit the review thing and leave a few words of encouragement of criticism. Or plunnies of your own; I always love getting requests.

Anyway, that's all folks. Sorry for making you wait for the chapter, but hopefully things will get better from here. Hopefully.

Ariaeris~

Ps: Actual revelations next chapter! Shocking, I know.


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